


Spinner’s End Knitting Club

by kong1995



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Canon Divergence - Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Canon-Typical Violence, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson Friendship, F/M, Feelings, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Group Therapy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Kidfic, Knitting, M/M, Mother Hen Pansy Parkinson, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Severus Snape Lives, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21557335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kong1995/pseuds/kong1995
Summary: Hermione pinched her eyebrows, and sighed tiredly, “Look mate, I know it was me who suggested to start the club and sent you the Muggle paper related to knitting and healing trauma, but like all the homework I’ve done for you and Harry in the past, I wasn’t really aiming to proudly put my name on it!”
Relationships: Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Severus Snape, Hermione Granger/Severus Snape, Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 29





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first attempt trying English fanfiction writing and this work is currently not being Betaed (If anyone is interested please message me!). I’m new to knitting and this AO3 posting thing so please bear with me and point out any mistakes as we roll along.
> 
> Please see each chapter’s End notes regarding to future Trigger Warnings.
> 
> Blanket Disclaimer: All the characters and background plot of this story belong to J.K.R’s Harry Potter, I own nothing but my love of them.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time Hermione Granger had an idea...and of course it came back to bite her. (Hermione POV)
> 
> Welcome to our little knitting club! No previous experience required! We are just gonna have tones of tea and name-callings and tears and fun ;)

**_Saturday, August 8th, 1998_ **   
**Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures**

* * *

“’Mione, please. I don’t think besides Ginny and Luna, anyone will turn up, and Mum would definitely be put out by that. Dad spent a week finally convincing her to do this.” Looking at her with his blue puppy eyes, Ron begged hopelessly.

_It was truly a stupid idea._

Hermione Granger groaned for the seventh time in the five-minute duration that one of her best friends had been in her bright small cubicle. Her temple was throbbing painfully from all the cramped 15th century legislation paperwork she had been reading since Wednesday, backed with the amount of sleep - or rather the _lack_ of - she had gotten when she started interning in the ministry two month ago. Her feet were numbed due to the inactivity besides bathroom runs all day, and her stomach was twisted from the disproportional amount of coffee to food she had been ingested since 8 a.m..

As if all of these are not _enough_ , here he was, Ron Weasley, sitting on the desk, on the top of a bunch files she _hadn’t_ gone through yet, whining like a three-year-old. She knew she had to finish him quickly, otherwise the stubborn boy would just sit there and go nowhere, thus further added to the amount of overtime she was topping up.

Trying to focus on solving the issue in front of her, Hermione pinched her eyebrows, and sighed tiredly, “Look mate, I know it was me who suggested to start the club and sent you the Muggle paper related to knitting and healing trauma, but like all the homework I’ve done for you and Harry in the past, I wasn’t really aiming to proudly put _my name_ on it!”

And Merlin nor did she expected for once, Ron Weasley would actually take her suggestion to heart seriously.

“But that’s not the same thing!” Almost jumping off the table as she recounted, Ron’s face turned a couple shades redder, “Remember all these hats and socks you knitted for _SPEW_? You actually liked knitting! Don’t act like I was going to ask you to do something that you hate!”

“Ughhhh,” Hermione groaned again, “First, how many times do I have to tell you it’s S.P.E.W. not spew you illiterate idiot. Second of all, it was NEVER about my opinion on knitting, or what do you think I’m doing here on a Saturday afternoon? You think I like sitting here acting like a bloody historian specialized in Medieval centaur mating habits?‼ No! My goal is to help them by perfecting an amendment that can push the civil rights of magical creatures forward in the Wizengamot hearing next week, a concept that seems very hard for you to grasp at the moment!”

“Of course it’s all about the grand scheme of yours, future minister,” the young wizard replied sarcastically, “but what about _US_? What about my Mum? Have you even seen her since you began your glorious job in the ministry? Do you know how hard she is going through after…after May? With all the shitty scheduling excuses you put up in owl, I’d think you are the busy lady minister already! Hermione Granger, do you even _CARE_?”

_Do I even care?_

Shocked by the harsh accusation, Hermione sat frozen in her chair for a moment, the air was crackling with the smell of old moldy paperwork and stiff tension. She opened her mouth trying to reason, but thought better to shut up quickly.

She could feel that Ron is hurting inside, and a hurting Ron wouldn’t listen to a word she say.

“Here,” Thrusting her a small piece of paper, Ron suddenly jumped down from the desk, causing all the files to fumble in different directions, “Seven o’clock, this is the address Dad arranged for the club since Mum couldn’t sit in the Burrow and knit for a second without tearing up…I have Auror training session scheduled with Harry tonight so we won’t be there, make your call Hermione, and please don’t let me down.”

With a swirl of wind, the young man quickly disappeared with a loud “ _CRACK_ ”.

Frightened by the uncommon sound, Hermione almost dropped the paper she held in hand. **_Rude_**. She cursed internally despite there was no one around, under the temporary security measure the new administration implemented, only selected higher ups and Aurors were allowed to Apparate within the Ministry building, and apparently her friend was very fond of this.

The bushy-haired witch opened the folded note, two lines of slim spiky handwriting popped up in front of her eyes, somehow oddly familiar.

_Spinner’s End, Cokeworth_   
_By Apparation only_

Just when Hermione was trying to figure out where she had seen this writing style and how on earth was she going to reach _**Cokeworth**_ against everything she’d learnt about the rules of Apparation - you had to been there before to Apparate, a knock outside of office door broke her thought.

“Enter.” She shook her head, putting the note away for later investigation.

“More coffee?” The coffee witch pushed her trolly in, it was probably not her first time been in this office today.

“Yes please, black with one sugar, I didn’t realize someone else are here on Saturday…” Hermione’s sentence stopped in the middle as she raised her head to glance at the Coffee witch for the first time, “Parkinson!” she gasped at the black hair girl dressed in dark blue collared working robe, “What are you doing here?”

“Well, nice to see you too Granger,” the dark-haired witch smirked, “How was your office date with the Weasley boy? Did he like the tea I sent up? Oh, looks like he didn’t get to enjoy any of it.”

Hermione’s inner alert triggered immediately, she reached to the wand hidden in her sleeve, ready to attack any time, “What are you playing at?”

“Chill the fuck down Granger,”  Parkinson rolled her eyes upwards prettily, showing her perfectly applied black eyeliner, while starting to put the unused tea cup back on the trolly, “I’m here for the same reason as you are,” Seeing the brown-haired witch’ s dumbfounded expression, she sighed dramatically, “I thought you were supposed to be the Brightest Witch of the Century or something, I’ m _working_ , Granger, Post-War Community Service Act,  passed last month by another muggle-loving Ginger, ring any bell? ”

“Oh.”  Hermione visibly relaxed.

Pansy Parkinson and her had never seen eye to eye in the six years of their shared time at Hogwarts, in fact, if her memory served her right, the last time she had seen the girl was before the final battle broke out, when the mean-spirited witch was shunned by all her peers after she tried to turn Harry to Voldemort. 

Hermione grimaced at the memory flashback, that wasn’t a particularly good one she wanted to recall right now.

However, Parkinson didn’t seem to mind the awkward silence caused by their reunion, she took away the empty coffee mug and casted a quick  _Tergeo_ to clear out any stain left in the cup, then poured a generous amount of steaming hot coffee in the mug, adding a cube of sugar flawlessly. Her posture held high, although the Slytherin witch was only wearing the uniform that had _Magical Maintenance Department_ label on the left pocket, she acted like she was in the middle of a _pureblood-lady-only tea_ party anyway.

“I never understand what’s your muggleborns’ fixation on these things ,” Parkinson lifted the mug back to the desk with a swift movement of her wand, continuing her loud commenting, “I mean, how can you stand the _smell_? Everyday I finish work and I had to spend an hour to get the rancid smell off my robe, only to have them polluted again a few hours later.”

Hermione stared at her speechlessly, she truly had no words this time. 

_This tart should really be somewhere cleaning the dirtiest toilet in Azkaban using her delicate hands,_ she thought darkly, _too bad Molly finished Bellatrix that early, otherwise they might have such a good time being besties in Hell._

“You know, I can almost hear what you are thinking in that bushy head of yours,” Parkinson’s tone was amused, “Too bad I have to endure your presence more tonight, I could really use up some good hour to do my Mani and Pedi if Arthur Weasley wasn’t being a dick for scheduling my shifts. A _Knitting Club_?Come on. I mean, what did I do wrong to deserve getting dear Molly Weasley’s instruction on how to knit a _fucking elf hat_?”

“Shut up,” Hermione snarled, finally letting her temper got lose, “Pansy Parkinson, I don’ t care how you escaped any punishment at ALL and not rotten in Azkaban like the rest of the Death-eater scums, but if you want to be _stripped bare_ _, tied-up_, and _be left in the Ministry Atrium Monday morning_ for everyone to see your ugly body like the harlot you are, you are welcome to say all you want in front of Molly and me, if not, I suggest you to _shut the hell up and BEHAVE_. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

For a moment, Hermione almost thought she had got Parkinson pretty good, as the tall witch actually seemed to shiver a bit from her threatening speech, but the saying witch soon regained her composure, and flashed a tenebrous smile back, “Oh, Granger, there is really no need for that, I think I can handle...spending a couple more meaningless hours with you. ”

“I hope you will keep your words, now OUT.” Giving the witch one last warning glance, Hermione waved her hand, and dived back into the paperwork hell Ron had interrupted earlier.

And now she _REALLY_ had to go to this club, Hermione casted a detection charm on the still hot coffee before took a careful sip- _Constant Vigilance_ \- just in case Parkinson really lost it.

The office clock chimed five times, looking at the amount of papers left, the young witch sighed heavily. Those were the type of archival documents that weren’t allowed to be taken out of office by any means, meaning not only was her Saturday night booked now, but another Sunday spent in the office coming as well.

_Just her and Parkinson , chilling and having a cup of coffee, HOW **MARVELOUS**. _

* * *

**_Saturday, August 8th, 1998_  
The Spinner’s End, Cokeworth **

Finding Cokeworth was actually easier than thought. Since Parkinson was nowhere to be seen on the floor — probably busy wiping window somewhere — asking her for directions was out of question, and she didn’t want to risk seeing Molly earlier by floo calling the Burrow. Hermione left the Ministry at 6, she quickly spotted a Newsstand down the corner and went in to purchase a set of Muggle map and road book with loads of pictures. 

After locating both **Cokeworth** — looked like a small industrial town somewhere near Manchester — and **Spinner** **’ ****s End** in the book, the witch did a couple practice runs first, choosing a nearby location on the map that she hadn’t been before and _Apparated_ under a Disillusion charm, they were all successful. Making sure she had the clear image of the map location in mind, Hermione Apparated again, this time landing precisely in a dark alleyway near a riverbank.

The wind in the Midlands were a lot chiller than central London, regretting not brought her weekday work robe along with her during the weekend , Hermione quickly casted a warming charm over her long-sleeved shirt. At dinner time, this side of town looked pretty dead to her, the row of old townhouses along the river looked worn-out and recently damaged by flood.

Spinner’s End was supposed to be a couple minutes away from where she landed, as soon as she took a turn to the left street following the map, her doubt about how to find the exact location vanished completely. After all, there was only one house standing in the end had dimming lights reflecting from the frosted window.

The young witch quickened her stride as the rotten fishy smell from water was slowly began to get on her nerves. She wondered how did Arthur came across this town as she didn’t even know Cokeworth existed before as a Muggleborn witch herself. Sometimes all the weird connections Weasley Patriarch had with Muggle things scared her, like the now-abandoned Ford Anglia, but thinking about their financial situation, Hermione bet the curious wizard must encountered a cheap house for sale Ad on a shady Muggle Sunday newspaper, or something like that.

She stopped in front of the battered door, knocking three times, since there weren’t any doorbells in sight, “Mrs. Weasley? Are you there? It’s Hermione. ”

There were someone walking towards the door, judging from the cracking sounds floor made along the way, Hermione touched the front dark grey brick near the door frame and felt the rough edges on her fingertips.  This was truly an aged house,  she mused.

When the door finally opened, she smiled apologetically, arms reaching out, preparing to receive a hug from the kind-hearted Weasley Matriarch like many times she did in the past, “Sorry I was a little early, I came directly from Ministry.”

The hallway was just as dark as the outside, but after a second of adjusting, she could still make out the tall standing shadow from the poorly-lit area. Had Molly decided to wear all black after Fred’s passing? Wait...

Suddenly, the petite witch’s extending arm stopped in the middle, right in front of the person’s chest.

Standing there, was her ever-taunting ex Potions professor, the man, the spy, the hero who stirred many rumors before and after both wars, who disappeared after the battle had finished with a pool of blood in the Shrieking Shack, whose corpse they had thought was taken by raging Death Eaters seeking revenge. 

“Professor Snape?” Hermione closed her eyes and opened again, _too much reading and lack of sleep._

_Right , she must be seeing things._

“Miss Granger, do come in. Please quit stalling outside my house.” The man in question gave her a emotionless stare, speaking in an almost whispering way. He still held the door open, waiting silently to dare her to move a single step.

The witch’s hand was shaking now, all the sudden, she was brought back to the shack, the smell of fish quickly turned coppery, she felt her hands turned sticky, as if they were covered by the warm blood and silvery memories flooding from his body. 

_Oh no._

_No no no no no..._

_ Not this, not **again**. _

_ Hermione Granger,  you need to wake up from this nightmare, the house is not real, HE is not real, none of these are real, wake up, **WAKE UP!** _

Biting her inner mouth, she tried to withdraw her trembling hand, but accidentally brushed onto the standing shadow. He wore a fine sweater, the Merino wool under her fingertips almost feel warm and soft to touch...

Suddenly, a large calloused hand creeped up from side, long fingers wrapped around her hand, removing her from touching the body all at once.

It felt warm, yet not forceful, but _alive_.

**Alive**.

Like tide, all the noises in the back of her head were gone, none of the things were making any sense now.

The young Gryffindor jumped backed a step, squeaking almost hysterically, “WHAT THE FUCK!”

The said man looked down at her with a painfully familiar _scowl_ : “Manners, Miss Granger, with a year living in the wood, have you lost all the proper education, girl?”

Hermione Granger bit her tongue again, the pain remained, but the coppery taste surprisingly kept her grounded more.

Well, that’s hella a way to start her Saturday evening...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings:  
> PTSD Flashback (non graphic), Anger Issue


	2. Meeting One, Pansy Parkinson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pansy Parkinson’s POV of how the shit went down the first time...

**Saturday, August 8th, 1998**

****Tinworth Cottage Homes, Cornwall** **

* * *

Pansy Parkinson woke up with a sweaty start.

It was definitely before 5:30 as the small room was still dim from the lack of sunlight. Her sheets were all tangled up, damp from all the vivid dreams she had been having, but still comfy enough to offer the warmth to help her survive the unpredictable costal summer.

No, THAT was definitely not the reason for her awakened state, easily finding a set of small limbs circled around her waist—almost giving her rib cage a painful squish when she tried to untangle them.

It was too early for this, Pansy sighed, “What did I tell you about boys getting into a lady’s bed, young lad?”

The simple answer was _**DO NOT DO IT**_.

The said boy twitched slightly under young witch’s scrutiny, unwilling to let go, he gave a sleepy whine, “Hurts, my tummy.”

“What did you eat last night, Noah?” Suddenly became a lot more lucid by the second, Pansy supported herself up with her arm, reaching out to check her charge’s forehead.

It was burning hot under her hand. Do I know the proper Pepper-up dosage for a five year old? Not in a million years had the young witch wish she payed more attention in her fifth year’s Potion class…

The young witch panicked, not sure if she wanted to wake Mrs. Terry up in this ungodly hour, that old woman was pretty much useless outside of kitchen. The self-appointed director of Tinworth Cottage Homes was a witch who just celebrated her a-hundred-forty-year birthday last month, being the last one left in her family after two merciless wizarding wars, she opened up her ancestral house for the ministry to host war orphans. Waking her up would add nothing but liability to the situation. The girl sighed again, trying to recall what her mother did in her childhood when she was sick, not that she could remember much about her ever-absent busy diplomatic parents besides yearly Yule dinner anyway.

_Think, Pansy,_ _**THINK**_.

Taking a deep breach, Pansy gently removed herself from the little clutches, adjusting the blankets so it was securely wrapped around the boy, she touched his trembling shoulder carefully, “Hey buddy, I’m going to get something to help you cool down, it won’t be long, okay?”

“ ’Kay.” the brown haired boy replied weakly.

Picking up her cardigan on the bedside chair to protect herself from morning chills, the witch rushed down the hall where the bathroom was located. She waved her wand to fill out the tub with lukewarm water quickly, after making sure the temperature was to her satisfaction, she rushed out to get her charge, only stopped at the crown glass window. The circular shaped glass trigger something at the back of her mind, something Mrs. Terry had mentioned on the first day of her arrival, when the old witch was pointing out children in the backyard from her kitchen window, quickly going through the names. Upon landing a glance outside at the soon-fading Full Moon, Pansy cursed for her own stupid forgetful memory.

No, there was actually nothing could be done to help the usually energetic five-year-old to lessen the pain he was experiencing. The boy was in such agony because of the claw marks on his back, made by Greyback’s pack as a way of punishment for his parent’s sins, not an unusual way for the Dark Lord to reinforce his power, as she learnt how Lupin became a werewolf from the Slytherin Common room gossip in her third year. 

The thought sent a violent shudder to Pansy’s spine despite the warm wool she was wearing, of course it was to the Dark Lord to fuck up the most innocent things in this world, just like what happened in Hogwarts, when the Carrows started using extreme measures to teach younger students ‘lessons of respect and obedience’, and things escalated quickly from there.

Giving her arm a strong pinch, the young witch forced herself to regain focus on the gentle beam showering the floor from her half-opened door.

The air in the hallway was damp like the dungeons she spent seven years lived in, but also gave a faintly smell of seaweed and fish, which she actually felt grateful for.

This is nothing like the Scotland hills. 

_I’m here, I’m perfectly fine, now move, you have a charge to tend, you have works to do._

Taking a deep breath, Pansy Parkinson allowed the fishy air filled her lungs. The pureblood witch resumed her step with a determined look and some false calmness on her face. 

* * *

**The Ministry, London**

Alright, how naive of her to think the day couldn’t get any better after comforting a miserable child before dawn and her pleasantly recent encounter with Granger. Standing in front of the head of DPWR (The Department of Post-War Reconstruction), Pansy wondered for the hundredth time why she didn’t just runaway like a lot of her sorts did after war, if she did, she’d probably be drinking her Tequila on a sunny Mediterranean beach right now or something, _ANYTHING_ would be a significant improvement from this personal hell she decided to live in.

Looking at the kind-eyed ginger wizard who was about her father’s age, she tried again, while prayed to whatever deity was out there to will the man to change his crazy mind. 

“Mister Weasley, given the circumstances, truly you don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be around with your family.”

“Why Miss Parkinson, I think it’s an excellent opportunity for you reconnect with some of your old schoolmates.” Unlike what she hoped, Arthur Weasley was a man _known_ for his insistence on select matters and he wouldn’t just let things drop easily.

Pansy could almost hear the cracks of her plastered smile now.

“Despite your confidence in me, I’m really not that good with people.” - Who were all in the _right_ team when she publicly outed herself as the dumbest pureblood witch of the century, well, maybe not the dumbest, but definitely right after that crazy Lady Lestrange.

“Miss Parkinson, I was told by Madame Terry that you’ve been making great progress with the children - don’t look at me like that, you know she was telling the truth - I implore you to think about this offer again, if you do join my wife’s weekly meeting, your public service hours will be reduced accordingly, you will be free of our agreement two months early, which means you can see your parents for this coming Yule!”

Pansy’s heart suddenly froze at the rare mention of her parents, but looking at the wizard’s bright face again, she allowed herself to relax a little. A busy man as Mr. Weasley probably missed the little strip of Disownment notice jammed in many obituaries on the announcement page in the Prophet. Right, Pansy Parkinson, the daughter of a respectable Diplomatic officer couple stationed in France, was legally no longer the heiress of Parkinson after the public stunt she pulled during the final battle. She lived in Tinworth not only because of the service contract, but the fact that she had nowhere to go.

“ _You have to think about your father, my dear,_ ” her mother said during the last international Floo call at the night before the Denouncement was published, “ _It’s difficult here after the article on Prophet went out like that - you were quoted on the front page for Merlin’s sake! - your name came up in every soirée, it’s embarrassing, there is no chance of you getting married into a respectable family after that. Please, don’t take this personally, your father and I do care for you, but it’s best for the family now to distance ourselves a little bit, don’t you think?_ ”

Like she had a say in any of this at all.

“Please, consider this as a personal favour to me, I know you are a good girl, Miss Parkinson, a little fun on Saturday night wouldn’t hurt, wouldn’t it?” The wizard looked tired and worn out, he had the pleading face just like her Mother under a different light. 

_Wouldn’t it?_

“Right, Mr. Weasley,” the witch sighed, “Please remind me what’s the dress code again?”

* * *

**Spinner’s End, Cokeworth**

“Alright, alright, everybody,” the youngest ginger knocked the teacup thrice annoyingly, “Welcome to the first meeting of our little knitting club. First, I want to thank you all for being here, it truly means a lot, and I hope we are going to have tons of fun working at these, uhh, yarns and needles,” she waved at a big basket on the table, “I believe a little introduction is in order, just to break the ice, shall we?”

Sitting in the springy love chair located in the corner of this dimly lighted room, in a _Muggle_ house guarded by no other than her _ex Head of House_ \- probably belonged to him too if judging by the darkish interior decor - Pansy Parkinson was positive that the day couldn’t get any more bizarre than this.

No, she was not only surrounded by gingers like what Mr. Gingerhead had promised, she was surrounded by bloody _GRYFFINDORS_. Okay, maybe she exaggerated a little, Lovegood was physically here too (although Pansy could never guess where her mind was), but the idea still stood: The room, or rather the _people_ in this room, was too bright for her own good that it almost hurt to look at the rectangular table in the middle. She was not supposed to be here at all. 

If Pansy was not a woman who kept her word, the witch was sure she would bolt out immediately upon entering.

Surprisingly, the rest of group showed just as much enthusiasm as she did, as a round of low murmurs greeting the youngest Weasley back. The Weasley matriarch sat besides her daughter, having a faraway look just like the blond Ravenclaw, for a moment Pansy thought it was a little strange since Mr. Weasley did mention that his wife started this ‘fun side project of hers’, but quickly decided that she wasn’t going to waste any energy to gossip about some woman’s midlife crisis. 

“How about a name, a knitting project that you have in mind, and maybe a fun fact about yourself? Anyone wants to start?” 

It was almost funny to see people staring back at the young ginger silently, only Lovegood let out a low hum (not a _I-will-start_ sign, just simply _I’m-here_ sign). Seemingly sensing the stiff air, the young Weaslette’s smile faltered for a second, “Well, I will just start with myself then. Hello everyone, I’m Ginny, and I want to work on a pair of mitten. Hmm I’m getting the hang of transfiguring water into some other more excitable substances…” She stole a mock glare at her mother, then coughed loudly, “…Firewhiskey.”

The Lovegood girl clapped, then proceeded to climb on her wobbly chair ( _really_??!). She focused on adjusting the swinging Pendant above her head for a second (which only made the ugly thing _more_ tilted in Pansy’s opinion), finally realizing the room had gone quiet again, she withdrew her hands from light and gave a airy wave towards the small crowd, “Oh hey, I’m Luna, I want to create a Dreamcatcher. It’s a type of talisman used by Ojibwe witches to protect their children from nightmares. My mum gifted me one when I was six, but I think that one got quite full after she died. Oh, and just last week I found some raven’s feather and some Thestral tail hair in the forest, I thought maybe combining them with other stuff can create a rather beautiful piece, so there’s that. Actually, I think unicorn’s hair will be a great complement, but I will need to calculate the ratios for a bit, otherwise they may not get a long with each other and bring Nargles to my bed! Eh, the thought of that…”

Luna made a face at her joke, she tried to say more, but Ginny Weasley gave her a pointing glare, prompting her to end her nonsense soon.

“Oh right, a fun fact about myself. You see, I like to babble a lot and tend to get into my own head, well, I will let you guys have the floor then!” Lovegood made a bow, and jumped down the chair.

“‘Thank you Luna,” Ginny nodded towards the blond who was trying to set her skirt straight, then turned to look at the elder Weasley woman, “Mum, do you want to go next?”

…and met with a dead silence.

The young Weasley sighed, “My mum will be the technical advisor of our club, she knows a lot of patterns and just pretty much everything about knitting, so if you guys have any questions regarding to your project, please talk to her, she will be glad to help out.”

Then she made a pleading look to everyone else in the room, which made Pansy shift a little in her seat uncomfortably.

Sitting on the other side of the room was Pansy’s daily acquaintance, Hermione Granger. Of course, the witch managed to provoke her just in every direction by mentioning her project would be “knitting a turtleneck for her father” - _who the heck would wear such a thing in summer!_ \- and her fun fact was her addiction to _coffee_. 

Pansy snared into her teacup - generously provided by the otherwise unseen host - and took a hearty sip. 

…and received four pairs of indifferent eye glares which she was sure _free_ of any hatred. 

Right, she was the last one left.

Still remembering the many unpleasant things Granger threatened her with during the day, the Slytherin witch tried her best to remain a neutral expression while drawled out the words, “I’m Pansy, pleasant to be here. I happen to obtain no prior experience of knitting unlike some of our fellow schoolmates here, but I do remember a few things about crocheting from my grandmother, so I will try that, create a voodoo doll or something.”

She smirked upon seeing Granger’s alerted state, just as she was about to continue emphasizing how her liked to _experiment_ with her drinks, the living room door was banged wide open, revealing a panting Neville Longbottom.

Shit, the night _DID_ just get a lot worse.

“Sorry guys I’m late! I had to go to Burrow first since I lost the address…eh, hello everyone.”The boy gave his dark hair an awkward ruffle while glancing around the room, seemed not know what to do with himself.

“Just what do you think you are doing here, Longbottom?” Pansy blurted out almost instantly, “This is a KNITTING CLUB!”

“Parkinson!” A harsh reprimand from Granger did manage to shut her up for good. Giving the self-absorbed witch a dirty glare, Pansy went back nursing her cup of tea.

“Hi Neville, you made it!” Ginny Weasley stood up, “We were just doing some introductions, I will go ask Professor Snape to see if he had another spare chair, he is still out there, is he?”

Longbottom grimaced at the mention of that name, “It’s fine, I will just stand here then.”

“Nonsense! You are going to work on project - ”

“I’m sure we’ve troubled Professor Snape enough and he certainly did not look happy when opening the door.” Longbottom panicked seeing Weasley pulling out her chair in order to get out.

It was almost amusing to see the boy who scored the second headline on the front page (after Potter, of course) on the day after final battle to be still troubled by his childhood Boggart. Pansy swallowed her snicker like a polite young lady should, however funny the situation was to look at, she did want to get home soon, so she decided to have some pity on the poor Gryffindor - Merlin, she was getting soft. 

“Hey Longbottom, why don’t you sit here, you know, not all the snakes bite.”

Pansy made a move of putting her purse on the side-table, just to show she was truly the harmless snake in the house. Longbottom’s eyes were suddenly on her - must be surprised of her presence and her offer. He hesitated for a second, then managed to move his large figure to the corner and sit beside her gingerly. 

The old couch _squeaked_.

More than half of her space was intruded, Pansy stared at him in amazement - she swore the boy got taller again.

“Merlin, just what do you eat?”

“What, what do you mean? Do I smell?” Started by the unusual small talk, the wizard shifted himself - making the couch _squeak_ again - to get a not-so-subtle sniff at his travel robe.

Sensing the whole room’s attention is on the corner now, Pansy groaned and hissed.

“No, stop doing that, just do the stupid introduction.”

“Oh, alright, sorry.”

* * *

The night was a disaster.

Nope, call it a disaster was probably the understatement of the century. First of all, Ginny Weasley couldn’t knit for shit, Pansy was rather surprised since she’d seen all Weasley wearing hand-knitted sweaters at some point, she just assumed the Weasley Matriarch would teach her daughter a thing or two - just like what Pansy’s own grandmother did every time she went to France to visit. No, the young Weasley was hopelessly flipping a bunch of Knitting magazines and making noises talking to her mother who only replied with a couple words.

Then Lovegood had to raise her _empty_ hands to show everyone how shiny shade of grey the Thestral hair was, people were giving out meaningless compliments, but all she can see was just some empty air. Pansy was not even sure who was real mad here, possibly everyone.

Half hour into this madness, Granger snapped.

In a very _**LITERAL**_ way, she snapped her needles and stood up.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with these, they were not…” Realizing the questioning looks the club members were giving her, Granger lifted her piece with a irritated frown, “They were probably cursed - I need to go get my wand. How can I drop them every time when I start a new row? I had to restart this thing five times now!”

Pansy’s eye moved to the fuming witch’s hands, which were shaking slightly, casting a looming shadow on the table.

Gasping her own right arm, she started to have an inkling of what Granger might be dealing with here.

Pity, the rest of Gryffindors didn’t seem to have any clue what on earth Granger was talking about.

“Oh Dear…” Mrs. Weasley suddenly woke up from her trance, looking at Granger with some motherly concern, “Go check with Professor Snape, he may have some…thing to help you with.”

Watching the bushy haired witch stormed out of room, Pansy went back to work her doll - currently still just a small circle of patch, but Longbottom started to talk with himself then.

“What was that?”

Pansy sweared only because no one was answering him and the humming from Lovegood was getting more annoying by second, she was truly not used to this kind of social awkwardness, she sighed absentmindedly, “Say, Longbottom, ever heard of the _Cruciatus_?”

He stopped whatever ridiculous knots his large hands were working on, and slowly turned to her, eyes bristled of anger.

“Fuck you, Pansy Parkinson.”

… _Hey! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?_

Quickly rose to her feet, Pansy started to put her things away, she was done here. Ignoring Ginny Weasley’s intervening words, she turned her heel and walked out the door, shutting the noises behind.

And ran directly into the last person she was expecting to see in this damp house.

“Draco! What - where have you been!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I’m still here, not giving up this piece in the near future, but RL has taking a toll on probably everyone out there. I hope you guys stay safe, xx  
> Still unbetaed, any mistakes are my own  
> TW: None, except our characters’ few swear words  
> Unable to update to ao3 due to national wide internet blocker (but I finally figured out how to install a vpn app on my ipad!yay!) - story is on fanfiction.com under the same name


	3. Interlude One, Draco Malfoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enters our drama prince Draco Malfoy. Excessive inner monologue ensures.

Where had he _been_?

Oh dear Pansy, where should he start? Where did everything start to go pear shaped? Was it the boys’ bathroom on sixth floor? Or the haunted shack where he watched his mentor nearly bleeding out to death and only remembered one healing spell? 

Was it the moment when the Sorting Hat touched his head, or was it when Potter rejected his olive branch on the train? His life certainly could have improve a lot from any of those point, or maybe not so much different - he was born a _Malfoy_ after all. The problem of the _problem_ was, it didn’t start with him, nor with his father or grandfather - they were only the name-bearers, they were Malfoy, and EVERY decision was made to maintain the brand image.

Staring right into the accusing eyes of his six-year friend, Draco Malfoy contemplated for a few seconds. 

“Hi Pansy, I’m glad you are looking quite well.” He brushed her question off like a true Slytherin - when you are not sure what to say, then say nothing at all, or probably talk about weather.

And Draco knew his fellow Slytherin friend would understand - unlike some persistent Gryffindors who would not take “no” for an answer. What happened next, however, took him by surprise.

His not-at-all-touch-friendly friend dropped her bag unceremoniously on the floor, stepped forward, and the next thing he knew he was surrounded by a pair of slender arms.

The hug was so tight that left so little air in his lungs, Pansy’s voice was muffled by his shirt, but nonetheless contained her usual not-so-venomously venoms.

“You dolt. I’ve written letters…letters! Merlin, I thought they took you! No one in the Ministry could answer me because of stupid ‘legal proceedings’! Oh for fuck’s sake!”

Draco reached out to pat the girl’s back awkwardly - _please, please don’t start crying, those Gryffindors could probably hear them, or worse, SNAPE would **see** them._

Quickly deciding to move this touching reunion elsewhere, Draco picked up the discarded purse, then led the out-of-sort witch out through the backdoor. When he finally settled them down on an old stone bench, away from the wild bushes where the meanest mosquitoes liked to linger, Draco glanced at his friend again.

Pansy managed to look collected like her usual self again - _good, he really was not up to dealing with emotions and shit tonight -_ and somehow still _quite_ different from his memory. Physical appearances had not been one of his priorities in the past couple years - what was the point if everybody around just looked as hagged as himself was anyway? But it was not about how her hair was longer or she was dressed, it was the way she posed - hands on her lap, calculated and cautious. It was the way she seated - legs planted firmly on the ground, ready to bolt any second. The Pansy Parkinson he knew was ever so sure about herself, she could parade the Hogwarts hallway wearing school robes like a queen, but this Parkinson? Something must be off.

Well, a lot of things were “off” for them those days, and Draco was not about to go open the can of worms right now. 

“Draco - ” Pansy gave him a stern look of ‘I know you don’t want to talk, but talk anyway’. Draco deflated a little, knowing he couldn’t get away with nothing, so he started with some basics.

“The manor was locked down for ministry to collect evidences, so the ministry decided to put me up with Professor Snape to wait for my family’s trial - they haven’t set up a date yet. Our family attorney managed to get me out of holding cell quickly since I was still a minor when I committed my ‘crimes’. I couldn’t really get any owls when I was there, and this place is pretty much untraceable - some Weasley dude managed to ward the fuck out of this house when they were doing some repairing work for water damage earlier this summer, it made difficult for unauthorized owls to pass through. So yeah, how are you? I definitely did not expect to see you here tonight.”

“Oh,” Taking his word in, Pansy stilled for a moment. “I hope your family will be okay. I have been to places - here and there - after the _Paper_ came out, wait, you haven’t see the papers.”

“No, of course I haven’t seen the papers.” Felt he was repeating himself, Draco gave Pansy an unappreciated look.

“Right, of course.” His friend murmured apologetically, “Well, the Prophet is still full of trash - just different kinds - so you are not missing out much anyways. I personally don’t read them anymore. The thing is - the thing was -” She took a deep breath, “There was an announcement.”

“Un huh?”

“My parents decided to do a public Disownment…so yeah, I have been here and there, ministry housings, not so bad comparing to this one.” Pansy shrugged with a casual air of pretense.

“Oh.” 

Like Pansy, Draco too stilled for a moment, thinking, trying to recall what she did to deserve such a treatment, and it came back nought.

Then he tried to recall what the _Parkinsons_ were like, that also came back with a negative. The only thing he could remember was Pansy talking about her family ski trip in the Alps after coming back from winter holidays one time. Parkinson was a good old wizarding name, but Malfoys - meaning the _adult_ Malfoys - didn’t run in the same circle with them, which meaning nothing about them particularly standout.

He sighed. “I’m sorry, that was really a shit move.”

His friend nodded, then she looked up to the just-raising moon. She quickly stood up, picking up her purse. “I must be going - I have some duties I must attend to, but keep in touch okay? I will be back next week, if the ministry got a date for your trial before then, let me know, I will be there, that’s what friends are for, alright?”

Draco stood up, followed Pansy to the foyer and opened the door for her. Just when she was about to Apparate out, he mumbled. “…glad to see you again.”

Pansy formed a rarely sincere smile on her face. “Me too, Malfoy, me too.”

With a clean “Pop” into the night air, she was gone.

* * *

**_Where did it start?_ **

Lying on the crumpled single bed, Draco stared at the creamy-white ceiling, contemplating again. There were doors opening and closing from downstairs, meaning the club activities had came to an end and he could finally make himself a cup of tea in the kitchen. Draco allowed his mind to float for a moment.

It started with _technicalities_.

A _lot_ of technicalities.

First, his father failed to fulfill a promise to the Dark Lord, resulting _him_ getting the Mark as a way of redemption, a way of getting back into His good graces for the _Malfoy family._ Then, Snape took a Vow - according to his aunt’s crazy accounts afterwards - a vow to protect _him_ , because his mother cared about _him_ , loved _him_ , that she was willing to let go of her pride and beg; And then, the Potter incident happened, where Snape felt compelled to save him, but forming a life debt all the same, which he didn’t know until he was tugged across the ground by unknown force, and somehow managed to get his wits together to use the healing spell _Snape_ taught him after his almost-death experience and _Apparated_ them both to St. Mungos without flinching. 

Everything after was a blur. He went back to Hogwarts finding his parents, the bodies of some of his friends, and a finished battleground. Soon after, they - all the remaining death eaters - were gathered by Aurors and put into separate ministry holding cells, his mother stood tall when she gave him the last hug, whispering ‘be safe’ into his ear. 

Sometime passed - a few days or a few weeks, he wasn’t sure - his family lawyer came and somehow got him out. He signed a bunch of probation papers, being told his wand couldn’t be released until the trial had concluded, then he was conditionally free, _just like that._

Meanwhile, the ministry had some ridiculous idea to give him something good to do. He took care of his potion-induced comatosed former Head in the hospital; After Snape woke up, they were moved here. _Oh, by the way his mentor always had a muggle upbringing and how could he not realized that sooner given that man’s surname was a fucking Snape?_ He slowly learnt to how to do simple things without his wand, like how to put on a pot of water and how to use a toilet brush - _yes, you’d think after all the crazy warding the house had received, how hard could it be to install a self-cleansing toilet?_ They kept themselves in their rooms except mealtimes, which often consisted simple toast with tea unless some ministry-appointed elves come by and decided to have pity on them, and by having all the time in his world, Draco started to think, really _think_ , about things. 

At first, they were just random things, things that usually didn’t have the chance to get in his head due to prioritization. The smell of grass on the Quidditch pitch, the chirping sound of his father’s peacocks, his mother’s well-attended garden. He didn’t think it was some nostalgia shit per se, it was more of an empty feeling, the small missing beat in one’s heart that’s so _inconsequential_ most of the time, but when all the noises died down, the feeling of wrongness came up. It started with just one missing beat, then it became two, then it became several. It kept him up at night, unable to make sense out of things in his memory.

Being in a war truly messed with his head. 

Draco remembered when he was at a young age - like _so young that you couldn’t even leave your wing without a governess_ \- he was asked many times to draw pictures as a way of passing time and spending his restless energy. He drew up family pictures, no matter how disfigured those stick-figures looked, they always had three happy faces attached to them, doing whatever he deemed suit given his mood at that moment. 

Being the only child meant he was the centre of Malfoy family’s universe. He wanted - _and oh he did_ \- to do a lot of things then. Riding the fastest broom in the world? _Done_. Plucking out the longest feather from his father’s precious peacocks? _Done and with some minimal parental scolding_. Ordering house elves around to play house? _Done and regretfully not realizing his mother had taken photos until too late_. Sure, he might be a little shit, but a happy little shit nevertheless. Not in one day had he thought things could really shake up, well, that’s Lesson One he learnt about the _Dark Lord,_ they didn’t exactly show up on your doorstep and declared permanent residency with an invite, and of course they brought pets without asking for the Pet Policy. 

The other thing about their pets? Their pets ate _pets_. Oh yeah, they fucking ate _peacocks_ and _corpses_. When he stayed in the Manor for some Merlin forsaking school holidays, it was freaking scary to hear all the sounds at night. He couldn’t sleep with all the shits going on then, and that drove him to a point that he couldn’t even differentiate the wailings between human and animals anymore, with or without a strong _Silencing_ charm on. It reached to a point that he stopped using _Silencing_ charms altogether, not willing to sacrifice his sanity only for some false serenity. When he finally came back to Hogwarts, he was mentally tired and physically hurt and decided school holidays were so _overrated_. He thought he could sleep in peace again, but no, even Crabbe’s sleep ramblings about charm works were getting on his last nerves.

That poor sod tried so fucking hard to learn all those vilest incantations for DADA, wanting to bring honour to his family, but look what that had gotten him. Merlin, given the current circumstances, Draco would say he had done quite well himself, comparing to others, but the flip side of the Galleon was, the more time he spent on thinking, the less sure he’d become. 

He didn’t know _what_ to think anymore.

During his stay here, he had come in terms with the _multiple_ roles the other resident of the house played during the war, after hearing bits and pieces when McGonagall came through with her signature scoldings that usually reserved for Firsties running in the hallway. It was a universally acknowledged truth that Severus Snape was not a man capable of dealing any kinds of emotions, and therefore soon after the formidable witch’s arrival, he was called upon to _serve_ tea and to _be served_ as some kind of distraction - after receiving a not-so-subtle look from the aforementioned wizard when he tried to make his silent retreat.

To his credit, to say having tea with _McGonagall_ was just as horrifying as having dinner with _the Dark Lord_ was not an exaggeration at all. The woman was fucking scary when she put her mind in it. Draco shuddered at the thought of having her again in the house.

Wait, what was he trying to think again? See - _that_ was what he was trying to talk about.

Deciding he had enough philosophical thoughts for the night, Draco soundlessly arose - a bag of PG Tips sounded like a great idea to end his night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:  
> Brief mention of canon gore (or Let’s Talk About Nagini’s Unhealthy Diet);  
> Some curse words coming from our lovely little Slytherin prince (the blonde one).


	4. Interlude Two, Hermione Granger & Severus Snape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Granger/Snape co-POV chapter

Hermione Granger, the soever logical one among her peers, allower herself a moment to take many deep breaths to cool down once she left the door closed behind.  


She stared at the broken sticks in her hands in bewilderment, realizing a few splinters actually managed to get _in_ there. She felt a familiar wave of headache raging back, so eager to reclaim her attention.

Did she really throw a fit over a pair of stupid _needles_?

Oh Merlin, she really did, didn't she?

Letting out of an embarrassed groan, she mentally scolded herself for the leap of control. She shuddered at the thought of having go back there — _Ah, they must think she'd gone mad!_ — groaning again, she started the process of pulling out the little splinters piece by piece, ignoring the stinging pain coming from it.

She is not a stranger to pain, pain that can be easily dealt with, but it was the thought of _embarrassment_ and _disappointment_ made her skin crawl. These often came with _expectations_ , expectations that people associated with _Hermione Granger_ , who was supposed to be logical, thoughtful, smart, and to have a solution to every problem in the world.

But she was just so, so _tired_.

Deciding she couldn't avoid the night forever, Hermione pulled out the last bit of a particular long splinter with a wince, and started her strike of finding the said Professor. She did not venture out far, given the limited space on the ground floor, to find a slightly opened door set next to the muggle-styled kitchen.

She pushed the door open, after receiving no response from knocking, and allowed her eyes to adjust to the poorly-lit stairs that seemed to lead to the basement.

The bubbling sounds of cauldrons and the bitter smell of herbs indicated a brewing session must be in order. The witch kept her footsteps light, not wanting to disturb, she took a turn, a cramped potion lab appeared at the end of the staircase.

The said wizard was indeed there, back facing her, working on some kind of dicing, judging from the chopping sound of it.

Suddenly, Hermione had the deja vu of standing outside of Snape's office, how things had changed then. She cleared her throat awkwardly to get rid of the uneasiness.

"Excuse me sir, may I have a moment please? If you are not busy that is..." She blurted out the words quickly.

The chopping stopped.

Snape wiped his hand on a nearby cloth methodically, placed some charms on the work surface, then turned to face her with a slight frown, clearly not so happy about his work being interrupted.

"Problems, Miss Granger?"

Merlin, how came the man could make her feel like a imbecile using mere words was a mystery itself.

"Ah yes, you see, I did have a problem with the needles, they seemed to be cursed, and Ms. Weasley thought you might have an inkling." Lifting up the remains in the air, Hermione stated her problem.

Okay, to her chagrin, when she phrased it like that, it did sound a _little_ stupid.

If that was how Snape felt, thankfully he didn't say anything. He simply beckoned her closer, when she did, he waved his wand to lift the needles off from her grip with a scowling. "If you think the object is cursed, did it not cross your mind that _touching_ the said object might not be the best idea?"

"Sorry." Hermione murmured sheepishly — now she did feel very stupid. Given her past experiences with shady objects, she should have been more careful. Fiddling her hands nervously — _just to make sure they were still in tact, just checking_ — luckily they appeared to be fine except for the scrapes, Hermione secretly sighed in relief.

Being one of the most competent dark wizards in Britain, Severus Snape did take the witch's claim seriously. After casting a couple standard checking spells and receiving no alarming signs back, he carefully placed a containment charm around the pieces, and turned to question the fidgeting girl.

"What was your problem with them?"

"My hands," Granger babbled, raising her bloodied fingers for his inspection. "At first it was fine, but then they started trembling when I held the needles — Ms. Weasley brought them with her tonight. Did you find the curse, sir?"

"Stay still." He ordered, using his wand again to get rid of the blood to have a clear look at the wounds — they were clearly inflicted by the needles, but did not have any dark magic's trace around them.

"How did you get those?" He turned back to reach a drawer, easily locating a jar of Dittany cream for scrapes and burns, then handed to the girl, motioning she should put them on.

"Oh, um..." The Granger girl managed to look a bit embarrassed. "I was frustrated because they weren't working properly, so I kind of, broke them."

"You _what_?" Biting back more choice words he'd had were he still an educator, Severus gave the girl an incredulous look. "Miss Granger, please do refrain yourself to do such rush things in the future, these needles are perfectly safe from what I gathered, but now you may need another pair."

"But — wait," Granger's pending argument suddenly ceased, she looked at her hands, now covered with a layer of clear ointment. "See, they are trembling again." She stated.

Indeed, her hands did start to shake periodically, some pauses in between each wave of trembling, the tale-tell signs of a victim who was under a lengthy time of certain dark curses.

The girl was looking at him with her expectant brown eyes, waiting for an answer just like she used to every time he introduced something new to his class. He had to admit, although her constant hand-waving in school was very annoying, she was a bright student, ever so curious about knowledge, ever so curious about _Magic_.

Severus felt the bile in his stomach rising, he measured his words carefully. "I think you should sit down for this, Miss Granger."

"So you did find something!" The witch exclaimed excitedly, quickly settling herself down on the wooden stool, she wondered aloud. "Was it a time-delayed curse that only can be activated upon touching? I was fine in the first couple minutes. Surly it's not because of its physical properties right? My hands are otherwise fine, and the cuts are healing, oh thank you for the cream sir."

"How long were you under the _Cruciatus_ for?" He cut her short.

Granger's posture went rigid, she stopped her movement at once, clearly having trouble processing his words. So the potion master gave her time, secretly wishing Poppy or Minerva could be the person to inform the young witch this kind of news — they always knew what to say in such circumstances, wether it was some parental death or organ failure, they delivered them all with an air of reassurance, which were comforting for most of the students. Well, except for the Slytherins. They did not work that way — yes, they could lie through their teeth with eyes closed, but they _never_ fall for fake comforting words — which actually made his job as their Head a lot easier. In this case, he truly hoped the girl could take some traits from his snakes and keep calm through the process, at least until she got out of his house.

"I don't know, sir." The witch answered truthfully, looking puzzled. "I wasn't hurt badly during the battle and Madame Pomfrey checked everyone afterwards. A lot of people had it worse, I mean, you had it worse." She looked at his scar-covered neck pointedly.

"We are not talking about that _battle_ ," Not feeling quite comfortable with the blunt staring he was receiving, the former professor switched to his authoritative teaching tone. "The curse is known to have a long-lasting effect on its victims, if you paid attention in Defense, you should know the signs. Was it Bellatrix who casted the curse on you? How long did it last? Did she combine the curse with anything else?"

"I don't remember!" Granger let out a frustrated growl. "Maybe it's a habit of _yours_ , sir, but I didn't keep a fucking timer when I was tortured! Fleur tended me and I survived, broke a bank, fought a battle. So yes, you'd have to excuse me thinking myself turned out pretty unscratched."

The girl held her head high like a injured lion cub who had never heard the term 'self-preservation' at all, mentally cursing the deceased headmaster for putting a bunch of bullshits into children's head, Severus resumed his lecturing.

"To answer your concern, I took a lot of preventive potions and after-care potions when...situations arose. They were my own brew, designed specially to counter some of the lasting effects of a selective group of dark curses without dulling my senses. You are showing the signs of nerve-endings being damaged. As for the needles, you used both of your hands for knitting, which triggered a different set of muscle group that weren't designed for daily use after awhile. Without knowing how long you had been put down the curse for, it will be difficult to get the dosage right. I'd recommend you to go through a complete exam with the healers in to decide what steps should be taken next."

Hermione Granger looked...quite miserable.

"I can't just quit the club now, can I?"

Of course, that was her foremost concern at hand.

That girl's mind definitely worked in a different way from most people, he sighed. "If it was Arthur Weasley who put you up with this, then I do think you have to tell them something before leaving."

"How did Mr. Weasley convince you to house the club then?" Catching the meaning behind, the young Gryffindor asked curiously.

Seeing no point of hiding such a thing, the potion master replied simply. "Arthur fixed up my house and did a great job to convince people in the ministry to leave me alone. I see no point of rejecting such a trivial request coming from that man."

The witch nodded understandingly, hopping off the chair. "You are most kind, sir. I should head back upstairs now."

The series of actions coming from that girl had truly thrown him off. In general, he was not used to people brushing off his health advices — considering who his previous two bosses were, he'd thought he had a pretty decent poll. Nor was he accustomed to being associated with ' _kind_ ' when giving out those advices. They were usually part of his duties as a dutifully employee— things like brewing and curse-breaking, and he was so used to the idea of simply _giving_ that a mere word of gratitude had caused a ripple at his inner shield.

Watching the girl heading out, the former spy twitched his wand and quickly made a decision.

"Miss Granger, if you are to continue your involvement with the club forward, you should get a different set of needles, usually larger sizes can help with the aim. Meanwhile, I might have something from my mother in the attic you could use — if you are interested that is."

The bushy-haired witch turned around, giving him a smile, a big one that showed off her delicate front teeth, and walked towards him again.

"Oh, you really don't have to, sir, but if you must insist, who am I to refuse then?"

Uh, those _cheeky_ Gryffindors.

* * *

  
The attic was nothing like Hermione would imagine. It was humid, dirty, like a dumpster of many years' memory; There were cardboard boxes scattered around everywhere, books stacked haphazardly up to ceiling (a rough scan showed them were not sorted by any format, Hermione noted). It was unorganized to an alarming extent, it was a chaos of _clusterfuck_.

It was the most un-Snape-like space she'd ever seen.

Seemingly sensed her shock, the older wizard cleared his throat to break the heavy air. "I haven't been here for many years, it might take some time to find them...but they should be in a passable condition. _Accio Eileen's things_."

Under Snape's refined wand movement, a couple of large crates stacked in the corner suddenly jumped to life and flew towards the door, landing in an empty clearing with a slight " _thump_ " that blowed the dust to every direction.

There were blocked letters of " **EILEEN PRINCE** _"_ labeled on top of these boxes, and something finally clicked in Hermione's mind. It dawned on her that the witch behind those old news clippings she dug through in her sixth year were indeed a real, three-dimensional person with two boxes of life.

"Eileen Prince...was your mother." She came up with a sudden epiphany.

A series of racking coughing fits interrupted whatever Snape was about to say. He quickly backed away a few steps, hands sizing his throat.

This situation was like a badly renditioned nightmare of the Shrieking Shack, only without the spilling blood. Silently screaming in her mind, Hermione followed in haste. She desperately reached out to pat Snape's back, trying to relieve him from whatever pain he was in but to no avail. The dry coughing continued, air seemed to be escaping from his lung as the usually pale face turnt into an alarming shade of red.

It physically _pained_ her to feel useless like this again, to see the man became a sick mess _again_. She started to fumble the wizard's trouser pocket cluelessly, heart racing, hoping to find some magical cure in store, or an inhaler like her grandma always carried in her purse.

_Shit_.

It came out empty.

The narrow hallway was filled with her heavy breathing and his lack of breathing. In a struck of lightening, she grasped the wizard's wand — her own forgotten inside her coat downstairs — and aimed towards his throat, hands shaking so bad that it cost her a couple tries to cast the spell correctly.

" _Episkey_!" No, nope, not working. She cried out in frustration. " _Tergeo! Scourgify!"_

The torturing sounds finally subdued. It took the older wizard a few moments to regain his posture, breathing still a little ragged. He did not look pleased but Hermione paid no mind to that. A wave of relief poured over her like a waterfall and she felt she was also the raging water and she was in air free-falling and she was underwater _all at once_ , and the next thing she knew she was sitting on the floor, curled-up, with a Snape towering over her head.

"Miss Granger, are you alright?"

"W...what? Are _you_ feeling alright, sir?" She looked up in utter confusion, not sure what was happening.

"None the better," Snape continued with his hoarse tone. "You just fainted."

"I — did not!" She quickly stood up, trying her best to shake away the numbness of her limbs. Despite her effort, she still had to lean on the wall for support.

The stare she received was scrutinizing.

"Okay, maybe I did have a little dizzy spell," the Gryffindor grudgingly admitted, "but you just had an asthma attack! Sir, I think it was the dust in air that triggered your response. Did the healer prescribed you any potion for that? I don't know about magical healers, but the doctor my grandmother had always made sure her inhaler prescription was up to date, you may want to look into that — "

"And I _think_ you should go home now, Miss." Snape interrupted her speech with a wave of his hand.

"But the club —" She protested.

"I will let Miss Weasley know that you did not end up missing in my house when the question arise, but for the sake of Merlin, girl, go home and take some rest. Your presence is giving me a headache."

Hermione reluctantly watched the wizard spelt away any traces of lingering dust in air and closed the door — this man was impossible! Ugh! She was not asking for gratitude but did she not just **_saved_** his arse?

The wizard gave her an impatient stare then pointed towards the stair, clearly tired of her presence at his personal home. Silently fuming, Hermione tried her best to not look like a sulking child when she stamped downstairs and collected her things, with Snape following behind like a hawk.

"Good night Sir, I will see you next week." Clasping her wand, Hermione gave her customary greeting, not expecting a response.

When the uncomfortable sucking sensation from _Apparition_ wrapped her up, Hermione believed she did saw the man giving her a slight nod.

Her rented studio apartment in Russel Square was just like what she'd left in the morning — vastly empty except a mattress lying in the middle. When Hermione fell into sleep later that night, she was surrounded by the loud shouting of the drunks on the street and her old granny blanket — gifted by her mother when she went to Hogwarts, one of the a few things she managed to save from her childhood home.

Hermione vaguely thought of Luna's story about her filled dreamcatcher after her mother's death.

No dreams came to her that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings:  
> Brief mention of panic attack/needle wound
> 
> This story is cross posted on fanfiction.com under the same name. I apologize for the delay on posting here, it was difficult to gain access to this site from where I current located and I suggest you folks to follow this story on FF.com if you happen to use both sites. 
> 
> Thank you all for the support and stay safe. ***hugs***

**Author's Note:**

> General:  
> I will try to include trigger warnings in the Notes sections when necessary, the potential TWs, which pretty much come from the HP series, are but not limited to: War-related PTSD/Shell Shock, Grief/Loss of family member, Description of sexual assault, Anxiety/Description of panic attack, Depression, Child Abuse, Description of past violence act. 
> 
> I didn’t major in Psychology and am not by any means an expert in each area, but I do experience some of the symptoms myself and have witnessed my friends go through them. Everyone deal with trauma differently, how the characters in this story process through their life does not represent my opinion. If you feel certain description are inaccurate, you are welcome to leave a comment or message me to discuss, or simply leave and go find another story you like.


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